I rise when all seems lost and dim, A quiet light at sorrow’s rim. I have no hands, yet I can guide, Through darkest storms, I will not hide.

I open paths you can’t go through. I turn but only you will move. When you lay thee down to sleep, protection through the night, I’ll keep. Lest you forget to use me right, someone may wake you with a fright.

What’s stepped on in order to be carved? Made in order to be taken. Or chosen at a fork?

They say, I am mightier than the sword It’s true, but only if the enemy can read.

I start with the end of a cough My middle is the sound of the second of women I finish with the middle of the nation What am I?